Define Me Love
by LittleLovingCreature
Summary: To experience an emotion is one thing, to describe it is something entirely different. Sherlock decides to accept his feelings towards his only friend, because being apart from this man will definitely be the end of him. Yet, after they broke all the rules, John finds himself alone once again. Will their love find its true meaning? Sherlock/John
1. Chapter 1

It was starting to become a habit. Waking up in the middle of the night, screaming at the top of his lungs, t-shirt clinging to his shaking body, the images still flashing in front of his eyes. Suppressed memories, incidents he vowed to never think or talk about ever again, seemed to find a way back to him through his dreams, taunting him every single night. Sometimes he recognized the people, sometimes he didn't. It didn't matter, though. They would all die, eventually. They always did.

Slowly he pushed himself up. The cold air embraced him ruthlessly, making him shiver quietly. The thought of spending another night alone, feeling cold and useless, afraid to fall asleep again, made his stomach drop. In a swift motion he swung his legs out of bed, both feet finding the wooden floor.

There was a rather big possibility the detective was still up, probably writing or reading a book. Maybe he could join him for a while, not even to really talk but only to be in his presence. To just look at him. Watch how he would crease his brows while thinking, how his curls would dance when he turned his head, the way he would occasionally smile at him, those beautiful blue eyes looking _back_ at him. He had tried to argue his feelings for a long time, but deep down inside he knew. Of course he knew, how could he not?

His mind wandered back, to the days of denial. Those first weeks living with this madman. Moments of mind-blowing genius alternating with the sometimes sudden urge to just strangle him. Still, he could feel how this brunette slowly took a hold of his heart. Those bony fingers wrapped around the center of his body, and he knew the only way to stay alive was to surrender. He was in love with a consulting detective, and there was nothing he could do about it.

The steps creaked under his feet, a sound he had gotten used to. It represented a sense of safety, friendship and love. This house was more than just a random space furnished with shared belongings, it somehow felt like 'home'. A place where he could calm down, where he could be exactly who he was knowing nobody would scold him for that. For the first time in years, there was no place he would rather be than right there, at 221B Baker Street.

Disappointment took a hold of him as he saw him, lying completely still on the couch, hands pressed together beneath his chin. For some incomprehensible reason Sherlock liked this position. 'Relaxes the mind, John.' he'd say, not even looking at him. It was obvious he needed that silence sometimes, since his brains never really seemed to cease for a minute.

That was the exact reason why John didn't reach out to him. The man deserved his rest. Just a couple hours without deductions, cases and other incidental thoughts. A moment to pay a little attention to his own dreams and aspirations, although he wasn't completely sure if a man like Sherlock had those.

So, as quietly as he had walked down the staircase, he returned his way back to his bedroom. Preparing himself for another sleepless night, hours filled with obscure nightmares, only craving for the man he was in love with.

Just one more time he dared to glance over his shoulder, a lump forming in his throat. He never intended to fall in love, not with anybody. Yet, there he was. Crying over a man who would never return the feelings, a man completely unknown to 'love'.

Loneliness, a constantly returning theme in his miserable life.

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When your whole life is based on facts, on situations you beheld with your own eyes, real data you never once doubted, a sudden overwhelming sensation of uncertainty can drive you completely insane.

This was, apparently, the exact way Sherlock felt that particular night. All those thoughts and 'feelings' – as people liked to call them – wouldn't leave him alone for just one precious second. Just one moment of heavenly quietness, to think about something that _did _matter. Murderers, freely walking down the street. Rapists, swindlers, drug dealers, serial killers – god, how he loved those –, kidnappers. Those were things that mattered, to him and to the people around him.

But then again, why did his mind always wander back to this man? Why did a case, and God knew how he loved to solve crimes, not challenge him anymore? Why had his body and mind suddenly decided to focus on this man? There were so many questions, and even he – the great Sherlock Holmes – was not able to answer one of them..

His eyes shot towards the stairs as heart wrenching screams filled the living room. Immediately he covered his ears in agony, trying to shut out the horror. Knowing John was in pain, mentally and maybe even physically, made him feel weak and disgusted. He should be there for him, especially when the nightmares started again. But he couldn't, he just simply couldn't.

As soon as he heard the doctor coming down, his instinct took over and carried him to the couch. He was not ready to ventilate these chemical reactions inside his head, not yet. Too much embarrassment and confusion involved, which would probably tend to turn into a weird form of aphasia, which would eventually lead to even more confusion and definitely a lot more embarrassment, not only for him.

His hands found each other, right beneath his chin, for the detective a familiar position. Just as he closed his eyes, he could hear John sighing softly in the doorway. All his senses operated at full power, feeling every movement, hearing every sound. It seemed the only possible way to be close to this man, the only way to satisfy his desires.

Images, little pieces of vague memories, flashed in front of his eyes. When he saw John Watson for the very first time, and he immediately knew this man was going to change his life completely. When his ego almost got him killed, and John saved him from such a disastrous destruction by _killing_ a man. The days after the incident, when a sudden longing of body contact started to occur to him. Innocent moments, when John had made him tea, and their fingers brushed as he took the cup out of his hands. He felt electrified, as if he was literally connected to a socket and energy was running through his body and heart.

It had scared him at first. Only after a couple days, when the sensation had subsided, he started to realize the meaning of it. Yet, one single reaction did not determine this – 'being in love' – applied to him one hundred percent. So, that evening he had asked John for some tea. Again, their fingers had met when he took the cup. Again, his body had reacted energetic to that single touch. Finding the same result twice meant something entirely different. He knew this as well as anybody.

Despite this knowledge, he didn't get what all this really meant. Usually, at least he thought so, both should experience the same force of attraction. Obviously, this meant they were never going to get together in the first place. Great start, Sherlock. Bravo!

Just for one second, as he lied there, he considered telling John everything. He needed to get it out, to free himself from all this nonsense inside his head. However, such an act could mean the end of their friendship. And at that moment, he knew only one thing for sure. A life without Watson, was not a life worth living.

After a minute, maybe even less than a minute, the doctor disappeared again. That night, just like before, they were going to be alone, again. Both not ready for the first steps, afraid of losing the most important person in their life.

With a frustrated sigh, he clung one of the pillows to his chest and stared into the darkness of the room. He felt alone. For the first time in his entire life, he wanted to be around someone – John. To hear him babble stupid comments about the case, or watch him update his blog, then press his body against John's back and insult his writing, which John would then return gracefully, sometimes even with a smile.

He _was_ going insane, and God.. He loved it.

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**A/N: Thanks for reading! I'm really interested in your opinions! I can use any kind of review, really. Tell me what you think; continue this or not? I'm having some pretty big ideas, and if you guys like it I'm going to work it out. Thanks again! :)  
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**Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, events, etc.  
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	2. Chapter 2

To walk on the edge of life, chasing danger and sometimes even death, had always been some kind of drug to Sherlock. His head aching with theories and solutions, his body agitated, craving for more and more. The game changed when John got involved. No, not only the game. His whole life changed when his friend, the man he loved, stepped out in front of him, explosives attached to his body.

The red dots dancing across his torso and head, an innocent sight with deadly consequences. But it weren't the snipers or the explosives that got to him. The way John looked at him, calm and determined, even at the moment he took a hold of Moriarty and told Sherlock to run. This man had been willing to die for him, right there and then.

He didn't have to, though. After a freighting couple of minutes Moriarty had left, leaving the two of them alone. They had stared at each other, John still shaking on the floor and Sherlock standing in front of him. Just thinking in silence, watching how the horror slowly faded from their faces.

The ride home had been silent, too. No words were needed to express their gratitude towards each other. Because they had saved each other, and with that their love.

"I'll make you some tea." John told the detective as they entered their flat. Without waiting for an answer, he walked into the kitchen looking for a _clean_ teapot. Sherlock had this habit of using their teapot to mix all kinds of chemicals, and even though John respected the man's hobbies, he really didn't want to risk getting poisoned. He eventually found one in the top cabinets. Cristal white, with a kind of brownish map of the United Kingdom placed on the sides.

He had bought it a week earlier, after a heated argument about Sherlock's experiments in the kitchen. The detective had not cared about a thing, of course he hadn't, but John had shouted at the man for ruining the fourth teapot in two weeks. He had walked out before the fight got physical. He should've stayed angry, just ignore the man for days or leave without a note, but he couldn't. When he got back, new teapot in hand, he had found Sherlock on the couch. When John had been away, he had cleared out the kitchen and living room, mainly out of shame. He was lucky to have John as his friend, and he had realized he didn't want to lose him over a stupid argument. However, for John this had been another reason to fall in love with this man all over again.

The apartment felt quiet. No footsteps pacing around, no shouting, no music produced by Sherlock's – awful, John would say – violin, nothing. This worried John, if only just a little. The detective lived by a specific number of rules, rules that were never meant to be broken. A small change in his autistic schedule usually meant nothing good, and John feared the worst.

"You hungry?"

"Hmm."

"Just tea, then." Sitting on the very edge of his chair, he carefully prepared Sherlock's tea. John could feel him staring at him, like he always did. Those piercing eyes resting on his hands, measuring the exact quantities. His way of controlling everything around him, even when someone else was in control.

But both men didn't touch their tea, probably not really thirsty after all. Sherlock was lost in thought, finding his way into another world. John had gotten used to the slightly absent detective. How he would just stare into the distance, hands folded neatly in his lap. Watching the expression on his face change, how his muscles would occasionally tighten a bit, his blue eyes transform into mysterious darkness. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like, to experience his way of living and thinking. It would be fascinating, he knew it would be.

"John, I need to tell you something." Suddenly he was back again, back on earth. Eyes fixed on the man sitting opposite him. His hands clung to the fabric of his pants, in an attempt to find some support. He just needed to get it out, to lay it all in front of him. The doctor could then decide what to do next.

"Sure." John replied, a sweet smile breaking across his face. Just one more breathe. One more glance at the doctor, still perfectly unknown to the bizarre situation he was going to be in. One more moment of tranquility before he was going to kill it, completely and permanently.

"In the last weeks, no.. Months, I've noticed a significant change in my observations and thoughts towards you. I'm not good with emotions, you know. It's been driving me insane, and-" He silently cursed himself for not being able to find the right words. He felt like a stranger in his own skin, unfamiliar with his mind and body. John notices his struggle and reached out to him, but Sherlock shook his head.

"No, no.. I need to do this, for God's sake!"

"Okay, just take it easy. There's no rush, I'm not going anywhere." he assured Sherlock, his hand still hanging in mid air. The detective managed to nod slowly, but they both knew he was in pain. The only pain this man was able to feel; a constant fear of losing his only friend.

It took him a moment to control his breathing. All it took was six words. Six very simple words in modern day English, words he'd said a million times before. But together, it took a lot more effort to get them out.

"I've fallen in love with you?" He tried to sound casual, but the words just didn't sound right coming from his mouth. He groaned when he noticed how John looked at him, confused as ever. That's when he knew he screwed up. He was going to lose his friend, his only friend.

"Love..?" John managed to blurt out, his mind working hard to process the words. Somehow he expected to wake up, but he didn't. This was real, very real.

"Yeah, that's what you call it right? You know these things, I don't!"

"I don't- I suppose, yes, but-" John answered quietly, not sure whether to be happy about Sherlock's confession or not. This was more than he could've wished for, yet.. Knowing the man, this could all just be a misunderstanding. A wrong interpretation of separate reactions in certain abnormal situations. There was no way a perfect individual like Sherlock could fall in love with him, a messed up army doctor with major trust issues.

"Why would it be love? Why not friendship, a best-friends-thing?"

"Because-" Sherlock's frustrations had subsided a bit. Nothing bad had happened – yet. As long as John was still there, he still had a chance.

"When I see you, my heartbeat speeds up and I start to perspire. I can't help but stare at you, just observe _everything_ you do. You're _always_ on my mind, and God.. I _hate_ that. I didn't _want_ this, okay! But my body does not lie, John. So I'm _stuck_ in a fight between my head and my heart – or whatever I have in here. Maybe I should _accept_ it, but I'm.." After a moment of silence, he suddenly got onto his feet. John feared he would might leave, but the detective just needed a little space.

The night was quiet, the greater part of London still sound asleep. The cold crept through the thin glass, through his clothes onto his skin. He shivered and relaxed, it reminded him he was still alive.

John watched him standing by the window, looking over the city. He looked calm, but John knew his head was a total mess. He looked confused, searching for words to explain how he felt. The man didn't knew emotions or feelings, he just thought. All he ever did was think about situations or persons. And now, when he wasn't able to deny his heart anymore, he didn't know how to deal with it.

"I think I might love you, John. I'm sorry." His voice trembled as he tried to apologize. He had tried so hard not to give in, but it killed him to look at John and know their love could never be.

"No, no. It's fine." John tried, but he knew it was his turn to be honest. Maybe Sherlock didn't think so, but he deserved to be loved, and John wanted to give him that. Security, trust and love.

"I- I feel the same way. You know, about you."

"What? Why?" He turned around again, his brows ceased in a surprised frown. John laughed quietly at his comment. The guy had absolutely no idea.

"It just happened, I think. Like you, you didn't chose to fall in love with me. Yet, you did. You can't control it, Sherlock. I know you want to, but you can't."

"It's not fair." Sherlock groaned, and turned towards the window again. He looked like a kid, scolded by his mom for stealing some sweets. One of the things John loved about him. His innocence, those elementary thoughts and emotions inside of him. When they got out, it was the cutest thing ever.

Slowly he got on his feet, and walked towards the other man. He kept his distance, not wanting to invade Sherlock's personal space.

"So, where does this leave us?" John asked quietly.

"I don't know. I'm not familiar with this – the way couples act. I don't feel it like that. Not yet, at least." He played with the buttons of his shirt, feeling ashamed. His intelligence was way above average, but his knowledge about love was embarrassingly small.

"You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with, okay? Just trust your heart, it'll tell you when the time is right." Carefully, to not scare him away, John rested his hand on Sherlock's chest. The detective stiffened under his touch, but kept his eyes focused on John's.

"Thank you." he whispered, a shy smile breaking through. A sense of relieve waved over him. John was still his friend, and someday hopefully more. Maybe they were really meant to be together. You know, like those movies. When in the end, the two main characters finally get together and kiss. Well, without the kiss then. But it was good enough for Sherlock, and more than enough for John.

Minutes passed as they stood by that window, quietly watching the night evolve into the early hours of the next day. John's hand had found Sherlock's fingertips, holding on to the last phalanges of his third and fourth finger.

They had never been so close to anybody before. John's relationships had never been more than attraction, mostly sexual. But Sherlock had been different. He admired the man, respected him, loved him with all his imperfections. He couldn't see his future without the detective, he didn't even want to. Sherlock was all that mattered to him.

To be so close to another human being, physically but especially mentally, was a complete new experience to Sherlock. He had never trusted anybody, but for some – still unknown – reason John had broke down the wall he had build around himself so many years ago. This man had earned his trust, slowly taking a hold of his retrieved heart. As he said before; he'd be lost without his blogger. John meant the world to him, and he was never going to let him go.

"I'm going to sleep a little, okay? Tomorrow's a new day.."

"But you'll have nightmares."

"A price I've got to pay, I guess." John shrugged, backing up towards the hallway. He would clean up tomorrow, a day he looked forward to already.

"No, no. No, I'll be up in a minute."

"What?"

"Go to bed, John. Give me a minute." He waved towards the stairs, practically ending the conversation with his gesture. John had told him to follow his heart, and that's exactly what he was doing. He had to admit, it felt good.

After looking at each other one last time, John decided not to argue the detective and continued his way towards his bedroom.

John wasn't quite sure what Sherlock's words had meant. Sherlock didn't know either, actually. But they knew they loved each other, and in the end.. That was the only thing that really mattered.

#

Sherlock closed the door behind him, locked it and made his way upstairs. His coat ended up on the couch, but his footsteps never ceased a second. Not until he reached John's bedroom, the door a chink open.

The doctor was already sound asleep, curled up under the blue comforter. He didn't seem relaxed, though. The muscles in his neck tightened, his hands clamped to his chest, horror covering his face. Nightmares were already torturing his subconscious, making him relive the days he tried so hard to forget.

John stirred in his sleep when he closed the door behind him.

"Sher-"

"Shh, it's okay. Go back to sleep." Sherlock sat down on the side of the bed, fumbling with his shoelaces. He placed his shoes neatly next to each other, exactly one inch apart. That's when he took a leap of faith and relaxed into the mattress.

The man sleeping next to him looked perfect. The moon illuminated the room just enough for Sherlock to watch him, to make sure he was safe. All he wanted was John to be safe, to get enough sleep and eat when he was hungry. That was how he pictured his future; taking care of John.

Because, in his opinion, that was love.

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**A/N: Hope you guys still like it. I'm not someone who has daily updates. English is not my first language, and I'm also busy with school. Just give it some time and I'll give you my very best. (:**


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